Darting behind the desk, I rush into the office and strip my jacket off my shoulders.
I’m placing my bag in my locker when the door creaks and Jen walks in looking ready to murder me.
Her face contorts and she narrows her eyes.
“Oh,” she says, her voice tight. “So youdohave a phone.”
The device suddenly turns into a brick in my hand, weighing down my pants as I slide it into my pocket. “Jen, I amso, so sorry?—”
“Are you sick?”
Closing my locker door slowly, I shake my head. “No.”
“You didn’t lose your voice either. You still have both legs. What I fail to understand is whyIhad to spend two hours covering your shift? What was so important that you couldn’t call? Couldn’t text? Couldn’t even send a smoke signal?”
Her voice remains flat and her words could almost be mistaken for concern if I hadn’t worked with her long enough to know each word is nothing more than a blade.
“I’m really, really sorry. I overslept and I?—”
“You don’t have an alarm?”
“I do, I just?—”
“Did your phone die in the night?”
“No, it’s not that?—”
“I expect better from you, Noelle. Do you understand me? What we do here ensures that these departments run smoothly, allowing these good doctors to carry out their jobs without issue. How arrogant of you to think whatever kept you from here is more important than all the lives that rely on a smooth-running system!”
Every word makes the shame burn hotter in my chest as Jen’s voice climbs in volume.
No longer is this a quiet scolding but a full-on teardown that anyone within earshot can hear.
“Not only that, but I am now two hours over my shift. Do you think I’ll get paid for that? Do you think I’ll get time back?” She snorts and points one stubby finger at me. “This is your last chance, Noelle. If you put even one toe out of line, I will have your job. Do you understand me?”
I stare at her, rooted to the spot while cold sweat clings to the back of my neck. My throat turns to sandpaper, trapping any response I might have.
“Now is the time to talk, Noelle. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I understand.”
“Good.” Her nose wrinkles suddenly and she steps closer to me, then her mouth twists to the side. “You stink. Like old washing. Clean yourself up before you deal with any patients, understand?”
A task I can’t complete because as soon as she finishes tearing into me, Jen grabs her bag and jacket from her locker and vanishes.
With no one else due on shift until after nine, there’s no time for me to sneak away and grab a shower or even a change of clothes before I’m thrown into my daily duties as this floor’s Medical Receptionist and occasional Patient Services Coordinator.
There’s a rhythm to it most days.
Dealing with worried family members of surgical patients resting on this floor, handling calls between departments to ensure the right staff go to the right place, booking surgeries for those in need and ensuring all information in the system matches the paper charts dropped off by each passing doctor.
It’s a good rhythm, one I usually lose myself in, but I can’t today.
My heart won’t stop pounding.
Shame clings to me from that scolding along with paranoia that I smell so awful, people can tell I’m living in a pit thanks to my fucker of an ex.
All my clothes rest against my skin like I’ve somehow put them on inside out and they don’t feelright, and to top it all off, I didn’t even have a chance to have…
